Disciple from the Darkness
by SmashQueen
Summary: It was on a night when the waning moon cast a dim light over the trees and crickets sang and owls called that caution was thrown to the wind. A young Minish stepped out of the stuffy stump he lived in and walked. Prompt fill.


Part of a collection of prompts that I decided to upload by itself.

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The Minish Woods did not receive many visitors, but when they came, they drew attention from all things. The trees shifted, the animals stirred, and the little people of the forest, the Minish, cautiously stuck their heads out from their homes.

Men sauntered in, axes hung over one shoulder and tromping through the undergrowth. They cut down trees to warm themselves during winter, or to make furniture for their homes. Women tread with care, lifting dresses above dewey grass. They gathered herbs and berries in baskets, and left with a smile and a merry tune. Children would rush in, wild, carefree, and loud. They climbed the old trees, splashed in ponds, fought with broken branches, and crushed mushrooms as they ran and explored. They were young and had not yet learned to take care where they tread.

The Woods welcomed them all and the Minish kept far and away out of sight to remain safe. They more than any other knew how to live with such visitors coming and going and were never really bothered, save for when a child decided to poke their fingers into tiny holes in thick trees or cracks in the ground.

That was the way things had always been, as far back as any resident of the Woods could remember: familiar distractions punctuating the peacefulness of the forest.

Some sights, however, were rare and even rarer still spoken of. Instead, the tiny people warned others not to go out late at night. More dangerous creatures roamed the Woods at night and shadows would obscure them. Any who found themselves out after sunset would find themselves in peril.

Not that everyone listened.

Especially not the young and upset.

It was on a night when the waning moon cast a dim light over the trees and crickets sang and owls called that caution was thrown to the wind. A young Minish stepped out of the stuffy stump he lived in and walked. He didn't much care where he was going, only that he was gone.

Anger boiled inside him. How could anyone say he was immature? He was twice as wise as anyone his age with a sharp tongue to match his wit. He could brew potions, repeat mindless information by rote, and pluck a needed ingredient or book off the shelf without being told where it was.

He had such great aspirations when the old fool had taken him in. He would do great things, the geezer had said. He would become a _sage,_ the fool had said.

Pah! What idiocy. What lies! Day in, day out, it had been the same thing. Wake up, eat, study, be lectured, screw up, get lectured, do well, another lecture, and on and on it went in an endless cycle with nothing to show for his efforts except exhaustion and headaches.

The Minish stomped under a broken branch. What was the old fool thinking? His talents were being wasted on fetching ingredients and memorizing useless things. Who cared about the old ties between Men and Minish? Why bother with meditative silence when the time spent bore no fruit? Who cared for stories of the old Minish's past or why strawberries were supposedly necessary for a red potion?

He sat under between the roots of a tree. With a flick of his fingers, a small spark lit his face briefly then died. The Minish snarled. This! This was the problem! His magic was weak and utterly useless except as parlor tricks. No matter what he did, no matter what he tried, nothing ever improved.

Patience, his master had said. He needed patience. To let his frustration go. What a load of crock! It had been over a year and still nothing had changed! He could conjure a small flame or a slight breeze or send an arc of electricity dancing across his fingertips. If he concentrated, he could make the breeze a tiny bit stronger, just barely noticeable, but that was all.

_ That. Was all. _

The Minish bashed a fist against the bark behind him. Hours of practice hadn't seemed to get him anywhere. Everything from his head to his toes ached from his earlier session, and after that he had to sit down, nursing a cup of green medicine, as his master berated him yet again on overextending himself.

The Minish huffed. He was tired of the old sage and his long winded speeches. What was the big deal? He learned his own limits and that was what counted. He needed nothing else than his own will and effort. He could… He could…

Raucous laughter interrupted his thoughts, making him start. Eyes narrowed, he turned to the deeper darkness of the Woods. Growing up, stories of gruesome ends and ferocious creatures had always kept him well away from it. No one sane set foot further in. It was a death sentence. It was foolish.

But tonight there was laughter.

Tonight there were Men.

The young Minish considered where to go. He could go back to his master's, listen to a speech on patience and rest and safety, then fall asleep in his bed to prepare for another long day of studying. Or, he could follow the sounds and discover what Men were really like. No birds or foxes would come close such noise, and he would be getting lectured no matter how late he came back.

Boots stomped the ground, fast approaching. The choice had been taken from him.

Instincts pushed him to hide. He found room between bits of tree bark, then stayed there and listened.

The footsteps neared his tree, stopping a little ways away. Two sets. Two humans.

"Look boy," said one, voice gravelly, "I understand ya. You're not used to the thievin' life. You're used to buying things and sleeping indoors… Your life doing that ended when you decided to hike with us back in the last town. Now, I'm not saying you're weak. By Din, you cut down Shade faster than Blind himself! But if you're ever going to fit in you need to actually, you know..._ steal. _"

"I know, sir," said the second, voice small and smooth but certainly _ not _a little boy. "I'm sorry. I've never stolen anything before, and when that lady looked at me I just…"

The first man snorted. "Lesson number three, boy: backbone. You have enough of it when arguing, that's obvious enough, but you need to apply that to your pickpocketing. Otherwise we're going to leave you high and dry and be on our merry little way. Then, when the townspeople find out you were associated with us, well…" The man chuckled sinisterly. "The old saying goes: Hyrule's history is drenched in the blood of traitors."

Silence.

Leaves crinkled as boots shuffled.

"Look at me, boy," demanded the first. "How do you think I got to where I am today? I wasn't born into money. These rings? I took them. This necklace? I took it. The gold in my bag?"

There was a pause. It only grew awkward as the seconds passed. A handful later and the second man spoke. "You took them, sir?" he asked, more than stated.

"Yes!" the first man hissed. "I've stolen gold, rupees, jewels, heirlooms, paintings, and so much more! And do you know why?"

The second man swallowed. "N-no, sir?"

"It's because we _deserve it._ We _deserve _good things, boy. We _deserve_ a good life. We were born into thievery and never even _tasted_ the sweet delights that other people enjoyed. That not even _you_ used to enjoy.

"We work hard for the life that we have. Some people live cushy lives, never having to lift so much as a finger. Others work day in and day out, nose to the grindstone, never resting a day in their lives. And for what? A meager meal and the feeling of _a job well done._" The last words were said with a snarl, as if the very notion offended the man. "Why should they be the only ones to have good things?" A clap of flesh on cloth. "Whatever it is in life that you want, boy, you _take it._ You don't second guess yourself. It only makes you messy."

"Yes, sir."

"Good boy. And you'll pickpocket the next person you see, won't you?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Good. Now let's return to the others. We're moving on from Hyrule as soon as supper's done, and back to Blind."

"Yes, sir," said the man, and the footsteps receded.

Seconds passed, then minutes. The Woods returned to their traditional silence.

And the Minish breathed.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the Minish crept out of his hiding spot. He winced, gently dislodging his feathered tail from where it had become stuck. He hadn't realized how far back into the tree bark he had pushed himself.

But those Men… Those humans. So ruthless! So vile!

So...

_ You take it. _

So...

_ A job well done, Vaati! _

So...

_My greatest work yet!_

A short while later, his master found him, sitting between the roots of the tree, staring at the ground with a disturbing intensity. He was taken back home, then sat in a chair and lectured at.

The young Minish let the words to enter through one ear and out the other. He sat through the speech, tight mouthed and mum.

And resisting a grin.

He had found _ power. _


End file.
